Reckoning in an Undead Age

by A. M. Geever

  “Is that everyone?” she shouted, wanting to make sure.

  The woman nodded. Miranda motioned for her to climb inside, giving her a nudge. When she was inside herself, she pulled the door shut behind her, making sure it was locked.

  Miranda patted Victor’s shoulder. “Everyone’s inside.”

  Zombies still surged from under the tall pines. Closer, the beach was a mass of blown-apart bodies. Black blood stained the sand, made trails behind the zombies that crawled and dragged themselves forward, like the unnatural slime of toxic snails.

  Immediately, the gunfire ceased. Miranda turned back to their passengers, who huddled on the seats along the walls and around the rear gun, which took up much of the cargo area.

  “Sit down,” she told the few people still standing. “Hold on to something.”

  When she reached the cockpit, Victor already had his hand on the stick. She pulled her harness into place. By the time she felt the buckle snap, the skids had broken gravity’s grip. The zombies behind the charnel of the first wave stumbled and tripped. Those that fell got up, like they always did.

  An alarmed cry filled the cargo hold when they banked left abruptly. Miranda tried to twist in her seat to see if anyone had been hurt, but she didn’t have a clear line of sight. It would have to wait until they got somewhere safe.

  Victor’s voice filled her ears when he said, “Good job.”

  She looked at him, but he was absorbed in the task of flying the helicopter.

  “You too,” she said.

  There was just enough room to land the helicopter in the gap between the trench and LO’s palisade. Their arrival had created quite a stir, and an initial welcome of pointed gun barrels and wary faces, until those inside recognized Miranda and Victor.

  For a while, Miranda would have sworn that every single person at LO was in the kidney-shaped parking lot. Larry, the Comm Shack operator and designated ‘In Charge’ person while Rocco was away, had quickly taken charge of the chaotic scene and getting the new arrivals to quarantine. Most of the gawkers had dispersed, but an undercurrent of excited energy made the air hum. The people they’d rescued had been making their way to Portland—they’d heard about the vaccine—when their boat hit something in the river and rapidly sank. Of the forty-two people on board, fourteen adults and eighteen children had made it to the beach. A scouting party of four people left to find a safe place. One returned, along with the horde that had been in the trees. It had been coincidence, luck, that Miranda and Victor had arrived when they did. Even five minutes later—

  Miranda shuddered. She didn’t want to think about what would have happened if they’d arrived later, or if Victor had listened to her. Every grateful thank-you from the shell-shocked survivors had shamed her, until she’d retreated to the main gate’s watchtower. She stood on the catwalk, even though it reminded her of the terrible night when she, Doug, and Rocco had struggled to get the drawbridge up to save the community from a different horde. Victor had been part of why that night had happened, been part of the attack that almost wiped out LO. Miranda found she couldn’t dredge up the usual bitterness.

  Larry and Victor came into view around the last turn of the narrow road from the parking lot. Miranda sighed, happy that they’d be leaving for the bunker. They’d been gone almost two hours. Everyone there must be frantic. Larry was smiling at Victor; a genuine smile, not the guarded one she’d seen on his face before when Victor was around. She was just about to call out to them when a woman darted into view behind them. It was Noelle, looking pale and anxious.

  “Victor!”

  Victor turned back, then said, sounding distracted, “Give me a minute.”

  “That was some entrance, Miranda,” Larry said when he reached her at the gate; she’d come down to meet him. He ran his hand over his comb-over, looking a bit awestruck.

  “I guess it was.”

  She wasn’t close enough that she could hear their conversation, but Noelle’s face glowed with relief, quickly followed by concern. She didn’t know where Victor had gone or what he was doing, and then he showed up in a helicopter, so it was understandable. Her eyes were moist and bright. Victor’s tender smile, and the gentleness with which he cupped his hand alongside Noelle’s cheek, made no secret of how he felt about her.

  “If they don’t hit the sheets when he gets back, one of them is gay,” Miranda said under her breath.

  Larry laughed. “I’m starting to think he might be all right.” His voice became thoughtful. “He got really uncomfortable when he heard me telling people what he did to save those people, like he didn’t deserve any credit. He said he hadn’t been sure about it because you guys might get mobbed.”

  “That’s not what happened,” Miranda said. “He—” She snapped her mouth shut. She’d almost said that Victor never hesitated, that she’d been the one who hadn’t wanted to stop, but she couldn’t admit that, not yet. At Larry’s quizzical expression, she said, “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Maybe he really is trying to turn over a new leaf.”

  Part of her didn’t want to agree with Larry, but after the day’s events, she couldn’t come up with a counter-argument. She still didn’t trust Victor, but perhaps what he’d said about wanting to get back to the person he’d been before all this had been true. She sucked at trusting people—she might not be the best judge. Softly, she said, “I think he is.”

  When they were out of the gate, Miranda said, “What did you tell Noelle about the helicopter?”

  Victor glanced at her, his brows knitted low. ‘Are you kidding me?’ was written all over his face. “Nothing. Just that I’d be back when I could.”

  “You did a good thing today, Victor. I may have misjudged you.”

  He stopped midstep, his blue eyes wide with a surprise that he quickly covered. “It really wasn’t a big deal.”

  “Tell that to the people who were on the beach.”

  His mouth settled into a frown. He looked at her, but he wasn’t seeing her. After a long moment, he said, “I don’t deserve any pats on the back. I have a lot to make up for.”

  She knew how that felt. “You were right. I’m glad you didn’t listen to me.”

  Victor’s mouth opened, then closed. After another moment’s hesitation, he said, “That’s not your style. I don’t know you well, but I know that.”

  She’d never wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole more than she did right now. Of all the people she never wanted to admit something like this to, Victor was at the top of the list. She looked at her feet, unable to meet his eyes, then steeled herself to peek up at him.

  “I was afraid if… If we lost the helicopter, then I wouldn’t be able to use it to get home.”

  “You’re going to need a pilot to do that.”

  “Yeah,” she said, so uncomfortable she wanted to crawl out of her skin. “I was going to ask you. You have no reason to do it, I get that. I haven’t been very…nice…to you.”

  One corner of his mouth quirked up, and a glint of amusement flickered in his eyes. “Seeing you the day after we heard about SCU, I figured you’d want to go home. Looked like you went on a hell of a bender.”

  “Something like that,” she muttered, remembering how drunk she’d been when she’d finally confessed everything she’d been holding inside to Rocco.

  Victor turned away, and her heart sank. He wasn’t going to help her. It was what she’d expected, but the disappointment tasted bitter in her mouth.

  “Get a move on,” he said over his shoulder. “The sooner we get the food here, the sooner we can go.”

  “Are you sure you won’t come? Just for a little while?”

  Miranda and Kendall stood in the bunker’s hangar. The others were already in the helicopter with the last of the food they were taking to LO for now. Kendall’s hands fidgeted, his thumb worrying the broken section of another of his fingernails. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  “I’m not ready for that.”

&nbs
p; Miranda sighed, hope draining down into her toes.

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen when we get to San Jose. There’s a chance I may never come back.”

  Kendall nodded, the owl blink kicking into high gear. “I know.”

  The corners of her eyes began to prickle, promising tears. Kendall hadn’t set foot outside the bunker since Rich died. It didn’t seem likely he would anytime soon, and it was her fault. Even though she knew Rocco had every intention of coming out regularly to check on Kendall, and Kendall had even said he might be open to people coming out to live here once he had time to get used to the idea, she hated him being stuck here. She felt responsible. She’d accused him of being the reason Rich died, and all the progress he’d made fizzled. He was still trapped in his gilded cage.

  She almost couldn’t bear it, but she’d have to. Shame welled up into her throat, making it tight.

  “Don’t cry,” Kendall said, sounding alarmed.

  She dashed the unwelcome tears away and bit down on her tongue to get them under control. When she thought she could speak without sounding too emotional, she said, “Will you promise to at least try?”

  Kendall smiled, a tentative one. “I’ll try. I promise.”

  She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. He returned the hug with just as much emotion

  . “Thank you,” she said softly.

  When the hug ended, she took a step back, glancing over to the helicopter.

  “Good luck,” Kendall said. “I hope this guy knows what he has in you.”

  That made her grin. If he knew what she’d put Mario through, he might revise that assessment. She took Kendall in one last time…the dark eyes and hair, the slender frame, the owl blink. He did look stronger, more sure of himself than when she’d first met him. Maybe someday he’d find it in himself to leave this place.

  “See you when I see you,” she said.

  She turned and walked quickly to the helicopter. She didn’t look back, afraid of how much it would hurt to watch him stay behind. Phineas gave her a thumbs-up from the cockpit as she approached, his face split by a grin below the helmet he wore. Phineas was so excited to be sitting in the cockpit that she was surprised he wasn’t levitating. Rocco gave her a hand up. She strapped herself into one of the jump seats along the cargo hold wall, between River and Alec. Clicks and beeps began in the cockpit, followed by the hum of the engine and the slow vibration of the rotors beginning to turn.

  As the helicopter lifted off, Alec gave her knee a quick squeeze, and said, “He’ll be all right.”

  She nodded but felt distracted. A tight ball of anxiety twisted her stomach. It radiated out to the tips of her toes and fingers and the crown of her head, as if her stomach were the sun and the rest of her body the solar system. At least now she knew to take something for motion sickness so she wasn’t queasy. She forced herself to breathe, in and out, steady and slow, because the closer they got to LO, the more anxious she became. She was one step closer to going home. They were leaving tomorrow at first light. She was getting exactly what she wanted: to go home, to see if she could find and help the people she loved. If they were even there, even alive. If she never got the chance to—

  Stop it, she said to herself, trying to push her fear away, lest she somehow make it come true.

  “They’re okay,” she muttered to herself.

  They had to be okay. Mario would be there, and she’d tell him she hadn’t meant the horrible things she’d said. She’d tell him how sorry she was, and that she still loved him, and beg him to give her another chance.

  She prayed it would be enough.

  28

  Like a thief in the night, Doug thought as he crept up the road.

  For you yourselves are fully aware that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night… First Thessalonians. He’d always felt that the Apostle Paul had gotten a bad rap for that bit in First Corinthians about women being silent—

  “Christ Almighty…focus,” he muttered to himself.

  They’d left the Castello a week after that first, disastrous attempt to leave without Violet. Doug’s relief that Mario had changed his mind hadn’t been as profound as when Skye pulled through her illness after testing the vaccine, but it had been in the ballpark. He knew Mario would regret his actions and torture himself over it forever, never mind the trauma it would have caused poor Violet. Almost leaving had freaked the poor kid out as it was, but her anxiety was lessening every day. And blessedly, she didn’t get seasick. Their trip down the Napa River to the southern part of San Francisco Bay had been nerve-racking. The whole trip had taken several days since they were trying to keep a low profile and the bay offered little cover. But at least it had been a puke-free, if nerve-racking, journey.

  The closer they got to San Jose, the more Doug found himself thinking about Biblical texts, and his years as a priest, and his life now that he was leaving. It was almost Halloween… Samhaim, and then All Soul’s Day. Everything converged during this time when the boundary between the worlds of the living and the dead became blurred. Doug felt himself dwelling in this liminal space, at once in both and neither. He had dreams where Walter had told him too bad, he was stuck being a priest whether he wanted to be or not. In other dreams, he never bothered to leave the priesthood, instead carrying on a furtive relationship with Skye. And while that flavor of dream resulted in seriously hot, forbidden dream sex, the rest of it was so stressful that on balance, the hot dream sex didn’t outweigh the anxiety that lingered after he woke.

  As a special not bonus, he’d begun to have dreams about Brother Rupert. When they’d left for Santa Cruz last year, Brother Rupert had been in charge of the safe house they were headed to now. He’d disagreed—often and loud—with Walter’s decision to cut short Doug’s formation as a priest. Jesuits had the longest formation of any Roman Catholic order—anywhere from eight to eighteen years. Doug’s had been four. He could take any form of abuse if it meant being with Skye, including the withering ‘I told you so’s’ that Rupert would dish out, but he wanted to tell Walter first.

  Walter would be disappointed, but he’d understand. Rupert would just be an asshole.

  “Eyes on the prize,” Doug whispered to himself.

  He slowed as he approached the cul-de-sac where the safe house was located. There were two two-story houses on Wentworth Place; the safe house was in one of them. Doug scanned the area for any signs of disturbance—for any signs of zombies—but it was hard to see on this almost moonless night. They had no idea what they were coming home to, which was why they’d decided to make landfall on the east side of the South Bay, in Fremont. There had been lots of zombies to avoid, and to kill, to get here from where they made landfall.

  After a last glance around the cul-de-sac, Doug stepped off the curb and crossed it. When he reached the sidewalk outside the safe house, he heard a soft snick. He froze. That would be the sentry’s gun, which had probably been trained on him for a good minute or two. Two figures moved around the side of the house, visible only because his eyes somehow tracked the movement. A red light flicked on and shone in Doug’s face. The red glow wouldn’t be as visible if anyone was looking, and it didn’t mess up night vision. He’d still squinted, startled, since he hadn’t been expecting it.

  “Doug?” The man’s incredulous voice was familiar, but Doug couldn’t place it.

  “Yeah, it’s me.”

  “When did you get here?”

  “This morning,” he said. “I’ve got others with me.”

  He felt more than saw the man’s posture stiffen. “How many? Where are they?”

  “Three adults—a man and two women—and a child. And a rabbit. They’re a block away.”

  “Go tell Rupert that Doug is here,” the man said to his companion.

  Doug still couldn’t place him. Just as he was about to ask, the man said, “A rabbit? Well, it’s good to see you in one piece, Father Doug. Let’s get your friends and get inside.”

 
; Half an hour later, Violet was in bed; Doug, Skye, Mario, and Tessa had been fed, and Brother Rupert had finished his evening prayers and joined them.

  “It’s good to see you, brother,” Rupert said, clapping Doug on the back as he gave him a hug.

  “Likewise,” Doug said.

  Rupert’s shoulders filled the doorway of the kitchen. He was as tall as Doug and in his late fifties, but where Doug was wiry to the point of thinness, Rupert was broad and brawny. He claimed it was from growing up on a dairy farm in Minnesota. Doug believed it, but he also thought, given Rupert’s pale skin, white-blond hair, and light-blue eyes, that it was also due to his Norwegian ancestors being Vikings. Given Rupert’s tendency to be a bit of a hard-ass, Doug figured they’d been on the take no prisoners, rape and pillage everything in their path kind of Vikings.

  “Mario,” Rupert said warmly, extending his hand. “It’s good to see you. Doug tells me you’ve done it again.”

  “Good to see you, too, Rupert,” Mario answered. “I had a lot of help. It wasn’t just me.”

  Rupert smiled. “It never is. The little one’s in bed?” At Mario’s nod, he added, “Then I’ll meet her tomorrow.”

  “This is Tessa,” Doug said, and Tessa stepped forward.

  Rupert’s large hand engulfed hers. “Pleased to meet you, Tessa. Any friend of Doug’s and Mario’s is a friend of mine.”

  “Likewise,” Tessa said, looking as tired as she was dirty. “Just happy to have made it in one piece.”

  Rupert turned to Skye.

  “I’m Rupert Vargen, pleased to meet you.”

  “Skye Swanson,” Skye said, shaking his hand and giving him a winning smile.

  “We’re happy to have you with us,” Rupert said.

  “Um…actually,” Doug said.

  He stopped when all eyes in the room swiveled to him. An amused grin skittered over Mario’s lips before he could hide it. Tessa watched with keen interest. She and Mario had a bet riding on how this would go. Being unacquainted with Rupert, she suffered from the delusion that because he was a priest, he’d fall on the compassionate end of the spectrum. Skye just looked nervous. Doug stepped behind Skye and put his hand on her shoulder, steeling himself. His mouth felt dusty when he said, “Actually, Skye’s my girlfriend.”